


Bible Belt

by bytheocean



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:35:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7908424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bytheocean/pseuds/bytheocean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(This is born of a promise for a friend) Clarke and Lexa muddle their way through their feelings for each other surrounded by homophobic southerners and danger waits for them. "Long time no see Grif." Lexa called as she made her way over to my porch front. She was wearing her work clothes covered in dirt and soaked in her sweat from the blistering day. "I..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bible Belt

**Author's Note:**

> So, themickeysays and I were talking about clexa and our love of their relationship. And this is what came of it. I promised to write something for her, and this is what I've come up with so far. This is just a really small description, chapter one should be up in a few days though.

Driving down the streets of my hometown was difficult after years of being absent. I had expected there to only be slight changes to familiar things, hoped that I would still be able to ground myself in this turbulent world. That must have been too much to expect. The old street signs that had been in the same place since the fifties had been taken down at some point in the past seven years and replaced with shinier, more modern excuses for small town signage. 

All the old storefronts seem to be populated by new owners with even newer businesses. The old playground a few blocks from Main Street has been torn down and replaced by a metal and rubber imposter. Everything that was once so warm and comforting seems to be cold and unwelcoming. But the churches spotting every corner had never been that welcoming for me anyway.

The people are the same, though. Smiling as they pass, usually working harder than most others, eager to finish their days so they can do it all again. It’s busy around here, the kind of busy that makes a person like me itch to go to a bigger and more anonymous place. Maybe that had been my mistake all those years ago, leaving this simple life in search of something grander. I suppose I wasn’t made for that kind of life. 

Driving through my southern home seems to be more a reminder of my mistakes than the comfort my mother had convinced me it would be. After about a ten-minute drive on dirt roads far older than myself, I reach the rather large turn-off for my long driveway. It’s still shaded by the same lemon trees that I recall from my cloudy childhood. The looming plantation house in the background seems ominous now, of things I’d rather not remember. But I can’t turn back now even though I desperately wish to; there is nowhere else for me to go.


End file.
